


she is alone

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa doesn't know it, but she does need someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she is alone

Tyrion climbed the steps to his solar as gently as he could. He could hear his wife singing, could hear the rustling of skirts. He could imagine her waltzing slowly around the room, guiding a brush through her hair, taking a seat in the nook at the corner of the room to look out the window, to make shapes out of clouds and dream of Winterfell, of being with her siblings again. Isn't that what she would dream about?

He sighed, pausing on the final step. He couldn't tell her now. She was so happy, the happiest she had been since she had married him. He could hear the smile on her face as she sang, a song Tyrion had never heard before. Surely he could wait. 

He heard clicking behind him, the clicking of heels on the marble steps beneath him. He turned to find Cersei making her way up to his own solar. 

"What are you doing?"

Cersei looked up from the floor, let go of her skirts. "Sansa has a right to know what happened. You don't seem apt to tell her at the moment, so I thought I would help you."

"No." Tyrion gritted his teeth. "I can do it." No doubt Cersei would give Sansa every detail of what had happened to her last surviving family.

Cersei shrugged, and turned back around. Tyrion barely noticed how strange his evil sister had let him off so easy, before he finished climbing to the last step and knocking on the door. The singing stopped immediately and a shuffling of skirts was followed by the door being opened a crack. 

Her face was at first a mask of uncertainty, but it lit up the moment she looked down and saw his face. "My Lord Tyrion!" She opened the door, allowing him in. "I thought you might have been..."

"My sister?" Tyrion scoffed, pouring himself some wine and taking a seat. "Gods, no. Thankfully I was able to stop her."

Sansa paused, picking at her nails. "I thank you."

Tyrion swished the red liquid around in his cup, desprately trying to stall for time. "You seemed awfully happy to see me this morning.

"I am always happy to see my lord."

"Sansa." Tyrion downed the cup in one swallow and slammed it on the table. Sansa jumped.

"My lord?"

"Tyrion."

A pause. "Tyrion?"

He could hear clicking outside their door, getting louder and then dying away, over and over.

"Could you sit, please? 

He could hear the bed give to one side 

"...Sansa, dear..." He buried his head in his hands, wiping at his eyelids. How could he word this? "A letter came from the Twins. About the wedding of your cousin, Edmure. To Roslin Frey. Lord Walder's daughter." The clicking outside came back.

Sansa nodded. "I know they were to be married."  A small smile crossed her lips. "How was their wedding?"

Tyrion knew no other option than to spit it out. "It was a trap. Your mother and brother were murdered by the Freys, as well as many of the Stark men." Tyrion made sure to not reveal who gave the Freys motive to murder her families.

He waited for a reaction from Sansa, but it never came.

Tyrion turned to face her. Sansa's face was blank, impassive. Tyrion could have told her a fly had died from the reaction he gave her. "My lady, did you hear what I said?"

Sansa nodded. "Yes, my lord. I ask you give me leave."

Tyrion nodded. "Of course. Of course." He took another glass of wine and waddled towards the door. "If you have need of anything, from me..."

The door shut behind him with a hollow noise.

* * *

 

Tyrion heard her sniffle in her dreams. She heard her moan, she saw the wet stains on her pillow. He wanted to so bad to reach out to her, to help her. But she would not take comfort from anyone but Shae, who sat quietly while she cleared the tears from her cheeks with kerchiefs in the morning. 

One day, after returning from small council, he hears her screaming from the door. Long, broken screams, and the shredding of clothes. 

He decides that he cannot turn a blind eye and a deaf ear any longer. He has to do something because he cannot pretend any longer. She is his wife, and no matter if he is a Lannister, Sansa cannot do this alone.

Sansa does not even hear the door creak open and shut quickly, does not hear Tyrion try to say her name as he steps over piles of ripped dresses. 

She is at the foot of the bed, tearing another dress in two while she yells through her tears. Finally, he reaches her, and puts a small hand on her arm. 

She stops immediately, discovered. Caught. She turns to Tyrion, displaying a splotched face, hot and wet, covered in her tears.

"My Lord," She is taken aback, unprepared for his arrival. 

"No. None of that."

"My Lord, please-"

"Sansa,  _listen to me._  You are not alone in this. I am not here to hurt you. I did not marry you so I could harm you."

Sansa collapses to the floor. She is crying again. 

"I would never hurt you. You have been hurt enough already by my family. I have no intention to follow up on what they have started. I want to protect you. Let me protect you."

She will not show her face to him again.

"This cannot be easy for you. Your mother and your brother were the only family you had left. But if you continue to suffer alone, it  _will_  poison you, Sansa. It will become a sickness you willl bear and you won't be able to-"

She takes his hand, and it stops him short.

She raises her face, and their eyes meet.

His voice is a whisper now. "Let me help you."

* * *

 

She doesn't shiver at his touch anymore. She does not wear a mask around him. When she is happy, she smiles. When she is sad, she cries.

She cries a lot.

Too many nights are spent with Sansa sitting daintily on the edge of the bed, crying into her hands, while Tyrion has one hand on her arm, her back, her shoulder, to comfort her. 

She does not hesitate when she takes his hand, or kisses his scarred cheek. Actions that astound Tyrion, but actions he does not deny.

They touch in bed, too. Sansa reaches for Tyrion in her sleep, and when she wakes, entwined with her husband, she does not move.

Eventually the dead family Sansa misses so much is not at the forefront of her mind all the time, not anymore.

Now, it's her protector.


End file.
